Domesticated Equines
by literatiwannabe
Summary: The first year of Jack and Sam's marriage, one snippet at a time. COMPLETE


Title: Domesticated Equines

Authors: Christi and Ryuu

Rating: PG

Timeline: Season 9 or 10 (In our world, anyway.)

Genre: Tooth rotting fluff. Seriously.

Summary: Sam and Jack's first year of marriage, one snippet at a time.

Author's Note: I realized when writing this that I haven't written any S/J since July. _JULY_, people. Thankfully, I had a great reason to try to get something down and a wonderful, wonderful co-author in karmaaster, who totally saved my butt. Also, managed to throw a sjfanfic10 prompt in at the last second -- mismatched socks, pink underwear, and missing car keys.

Dedication: In honor of deejay435. Our thoughts are with you.

--

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Absolutely. You?"

"Carter, you have _no_ idea."

His emphatic answer both took her by surprise and made her smile. "Why the sudden question, then?"

"Just checking. You know, long distance relationships are difficult."

"So I've heard," she said slowly, uncertain where he was going with this.

"And hey, we've only been doing…_this_…for, well, not that long."

"I suppose," Sam agreed – though honestly, at times like this, it sort of seemed like their relationship was the same as it had always been – sweet, but sort of confusing.

"And you know, I'm sort of old. And grumpy."

Because she didn't know how else to react, Sam laughed. "Jack, are you really trying to talk me out of marrying you fifteen minutes before I'm supposed to come walking down the aisle?"

"Well, when you put it _that_ way, it sounds dumb."

"It _is_ dumb."

"No. I just want you to be…really, really sure."

"Oh, for crying…Jack. Yes. I'm sure. I'm a big girl – if I wasn't sure, I would say so."

For a moment, he honestly looked skeptical. "Well, you don't have the best track record of doing that, you know."

Glancing at the heavens, she took a moment to count silently to ten. "Are you _trying_ to piss me off? Now? _Really_?"

"No! I just…" he looked a bit lost, and tugged at his tie uncomfortably. "I really, _really_ want this. And I need you to be sure, because once this is done and it's official, I'm going to be doing really well if I can manage not to lock us up in my cabin and never let you come out again. Getting rid of me is not really going to be an option."

He was so infuriating. In that really adorable kind of way. "Luckily, I have no intention of getting rid of you. I've become rather attached to you – in spite of yourself, sometimes."

He grinned. "Lucky me."

"Damn straight."

Thankfully, he then stopped being an idiot and kissed her. Which, as far as Sam was concerned, was never a bad idea. Ever.

When he finally pulled away, it was only far enough to lean his forehead against hers, smiling in a way she didn't often see. "By the way, you look really, really…just…well, hot."

Strange how that had become one of her favorite phrases. So she just smiled up at him. "So, how about it, are you going to watch my six out there, Jack?"

His expression was one of mock-scandal. "In _public_? Why, Samantha, I didn't know you had it in you."

She couldn't help it – she burst into uncontrollable giggles.

--

Generally, Jack mused, having someone tackle you to the floor was a very bad thing.

However, given that the person in question was his wife who was currently kissing him in a way that could possibly do very interesting things to his blood pressure, he was very willing to revise that assessment.

"S-sam…" he managed to gasp out between kisses and the wonderful distraction caused by the soft, warm curves under his hands. "I…I kinda wanted to take my - oh _god _- jacket off…f-first."

"Jack," she replied, very calmly, "I haven't had my hands on you for _two weeks_." She nipped at his throat. "Shut up and get naked. _Now_."

"Well, that's kind of hard, given that you're lying on me, darlin'." His hands roamed happily southward. "Could we take this to the bedroom? My knees would love you for it."

"Bedroom's too far," she mumbled, starting to work on the buttons of his shirt.

He squeezed her thigh. "Well, if you want to carry a crippled old man to bed later, baby…"

Sam let out a long-suffering sigh and crawled off him, holding out a hand to help him up. "Fine. And don't ever call me that again."

"Cuddlekins?" Jack replied, getting to his feet with a faint groan and promptly folding her into his arms.

"Don't make me decide to make it a month, Jack," she threatened, slipping her hand under his shirt.

--

"This? This laughing you're doing? Is not helpful. And it's starting to piss me off," Sam remarked.

Still chuckling a bit, Jack just kept watching her. "I can't help it. You're practically inside the dryer."

She blew out a heavy breath, backing out of the dryer and sitting down on the floor. "I had two socks when I put this load in the dryer! Two nice, _matching_ socks. Now, I have one white sock and one navy sock. How can you go from two matching gray socks to a navy sock and a white sock?"

"Maybe there's a transdimensional something or other inside my dryer?" Jack suggested unhelpfully.

From her position on the floor, she glared up at him. "Don't talk to me right now. I don't like you."

"Why, because I have two matching socks? I can't help it if my dryer likes me better than you. It knows me."

And now, she was sulking. In a really cute way. "And your washer made my underwear pink."

He shrugged. "Pink is better than white, anyway." He thought it best to point out that the color changing underwear had less to do with his washer and more to do with her somewhat adorable ineptitude at laundry.

"Okay then, mister, since you're so smart, where have the car keys gotten to? I have a plane to catch, you know."

Jack reached down and pulled her upright, then helped her onto the top of the dryer. "Oh, that's easy. I hid them."

"Why…why would you do that?"

Honestly, it had just seemed like a good idea at the time – put off Sam leaving for as long as possible. "Well, I didn't know it would send you into this pre-departure frenzy where you insult my appliances. I just thought it might distract you long enough for sex."

"You…I really don't like you."

He pouted, then leaned forward and nibbled on her neck. "Not even a little?"

"No."

"Damn. Anything I can do to change your mind?"

She pretended to consider this very carefully. "Well, I could probably come up with one or two things that might work…."

Success! Who said that being evil never pays? Leaning in closer, Jack nuzzled her ear, then, between kisses, muttered, "Hey Carter?"

"Hrm?"

"You have dryer lint in your hair."

--

"I'b dot sick."

Sam eyed her husband huddled rather pathetically on their couch. "Oh, you're _dot_, are you?"

"Doh. I'b dot," he insisted stubbornly.

With an exasperated roll of her eyes, she dropped her bags in the hall and hung her coat up before walking over to him and checking his temperature with the back of her hand. "Jack, you're burning up."

He just continued to sulk. "You haben't been here in _foreber_. I'b dot sick!"

"A week and a half is hardly forever, Jack. We've certainly gone longer."

This didn't seem to console him much. "It _felt_ longer."

Really, how could she argue with that? It always felt like longer. Plus, he really was rather pathetic. "Well, here I am. And if you'll let me just get settled a bit, maybe I will bring you a blanket. And get you some soup."

This seemed to perk him up a little. "Soup? You're going to make soup?"

"Well, I'm going to open a can and warm it up on the stove. But yes. Anything else?"

Now playing it up for all he was worth, he sniffled a bit. "Baybe we could watch some _Simpsons_?"

She laughed and brushed a kiss on his forehead. "See, you're getting better already."

--

"So, your flight comes in on Tuesday?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. You think Daniel can help me with some essays?" Cassie asked.

"Probably. Or I could," she replied.

"Sure you and Jack won't be too busy?" Cassie teased.

"Cass!"

Sam could visualize the wicked smirk on the younger woman's face as she responded, "What? You think I don't know you two are at it every chance you get?"

"Cass!" The reply was more a yelp, given that Jack had decided that it was the perfect opportunity to kiss the back of her neck. She squirmed away, scowling at him, and he shot back an unrepentant grin, settling his arms around her waist and tugging her against his chest where he nuzzled her hair happily.

"I've got to get to class," Cassie said, happily unaware of Jack's current location. "I'll call you later tonight?"

"Sure. Bye, Cass. Love you."

"I love you too, Sam. Tell Jack I said hi."

The phone disconnected and Sam turned her head, groaning as Jack kissed the side of her throat.

"You have got the _worst_ sense of timing, Jack…"

--

He first noticed it on the pizza box. He went into the other room to change out of his entirely too uncomfortable clothes and when he got back, there were strange, indecipherable scientific symbols scrawled all over the pizza box.

He ignored it because really, it was just a pizza box.

Then, it was the bathroom mirror. Scrawled into the condensation and dripping down to make a rather disturbing image as he brushed his teeth, the numbers made him a bit dizzy as he tried to make them out and quickly gave up.

Still, it didn't matter. Just one of the perks of living with an astrophysicist, he supposed.

But honestly, this was taking a bit far.

He had thought something was tickling him during the movie. He just hadn't expected it to be his wife, scrawling physics equations all over his knee in ballpoint pen. Gently, he took the pen from her, and she snapped out of her reverie, looking a bit sheepish. "Sorry."

"It's all right. I just don't think science equations would be my tattoo of choice. Something on your mind?"

"Just work. I'm trying _not_ to work this weekend."

"Much to the woe of every flat surface in the house," he teased.

Now she was starting to look annoyed. "I said I was sorry."

He shrugged. "It's fine. Really. Just try to avoid writing crazy science things on the walls. Daniel's already our resident white padded room guy. I don't think any group of friends needs two."

--

"Headache," Sam replied, shortly.

"But-"

She glared. "You've got two working hands, Jack. Get to it."

"It's...it's not the same..." Jack replied, looking forlorn.

"Jack. My head feels like it's about to split open. I am mentally and physically exhausted," Sam replied, her eyes narrowing. "I don't really care if it's not the same. I am going to bed. You are sleeping on the couch."

"Carter-"

"Couch," she repeated, walking into the bedroom and shutting the door firmly behind her.

"...can I least change clothes?" he asked plaintively.

The door remained ominously silent.

He peeked in to find her huddled on one side of the bed. "Carter?"

"Don't care," was the muffled reply.

Jack moved around the darkened room, stripping down to his undershirt and boxers. He glanced over at her huddled form, took a deep breath, and slid into the bed behind her.

"...thought I told you to sleep on the couch."

"You did," Jack replied, cuddling up against her back.

"This isn't the couch."

"Nope." He kissed her shoulder. "Let's get some sleep, huh?"

"What about the blue balls?" she grumbled.

"I'll live."

She grumbled more, her body relaxing against his. Jack kissed her shoulder again and slid his arm around her waist.

"I'm sorry you've had a bad week."

"Yeah. Me too." She sighed. "I want my head to stop hurting."

"Want me to get you some aspirin?" Jack asked.

"No. Just want some sleep," she mumbled.

Jack raised his head enough to lean in and kiss her cheek, then cuddled up against her back and stroked her hair lightly. "Sleep. I'm pretty sure the nice visiting General at work could get you the day off tomorrow."

"Doesn't have to," she mumbled, her voice drowsy and indistinct. "Just need a good eight hours."

His hand moved, gently massaging her temple and stroking her forehead. She let out a soft sigh. He kissed her neck. "Good?"

"Mhmm…"

"Good." He kissed her neck again, his fingers tracing tender patterns down her cheek before they returned to stroking her forehead. "I love you."

"I know," she whispered, suddenly turning and cuddling close to him, her hand slipping down to stroke his thigh. Jack slid his hand down and twined his fingers through hers, leaning in to kiss her warmly.

"Sleep," he repeated. "I'll look after things."

She nodded against his shoulder, her breathing already slowing and deepening. Jack gently tugged his hand free and stroked a fingertip along her forearm, tracing random swirls and the occasional stargate glyph. She sighed softly.

"I love you too, Jack."

"I know." He kissed the top of her head, holding her close for several long moments. "Sam?"

"Hrm?"

"Sometimes…" He paused, then decided to finish the thought anyway. "Sometimes I wish you didn't work so hard."

"Jack…."

"I know." He kissed her again. "The world needs you too much. I just…I hate seeing how tired you get."

"It's worth it," she murmured, half-asleep. "World needs SG-1."

"Yeah." He gave a faint, reluctant smile. "We really do."

She poked his side gently, tired eyes opening to give him a knowing glance. "All of SG-1, Jack. Past and present."

"Yeah." He grinned. "We're the coolest."

"Without a doubt." She smiled faintly. "Hey…"

"Carter?"

She poked him again. "You really need to stop calling me that."

"Calling you O'Neill sounds like I'm talking to myself," he grumbled, his hand stroking her hip.

She chuckled. "I've got some leave coming up. Wanna go find some sky-blue waters?"

"Yeahsureyabetcha, snookums."

--

Mornings with Sam at the cabin were surreally different than mornings with Sam anywhere else. Jack never really had to wonder whether or not she enjoyed the place as much as she proclaimed to – her entire demeanor screamed it rather emphatically.

When they were together everywhere else, there always seemed to be a clock somewhere in the back of their minds, tuned into some sadistic frequency that made them constantly aware that their visit was just that and they only had X days, hours, or minutes left together.

At the cabin, their internal clocks didn't seem to work right.

So instead of sleepy desperate morning sex with Sam that never failed to worry him, he got a lazy, stay-in-bed kind of Sam. The sort of Sam he really loved seeing, because she was so…un-Carterlike. She hogged the blankets and snored in his ear and often drooled on his shirt. She stayed in her pajamas for awhile and demanded breakfast in bed when she was feeling particularly comfortable.

And apparently, judging from the sounds coming from the bathroom, she sang in the shower. Badly, because really, Sam couldn't sing a note. But she sang all the same.

When she finally emerged from the bathroom, she was perfect – wet and pink and warm and wrapped in nothing but a towel. And still singing.

"You really can't sing, you know," he pointed out as she dug through her suitcase looking for a clean pair of underwear.

"Are you complaining?" she asked airily.

Actually, he realized that he really wasn't. "No."

His reward was a smile. "Good." Absently, she wandered over to the window, staring out. "You know, I really love it here. More than I expected to."

He had sort of gathered as much. Still, it was nice to hear.

--

Something was tickling Sam's nose. It registered slowly, seeing as she was mostly asleep, and at first, she merely pushed away. Problematically, however, it kept coming _back_.

"Stop it," she protested lightly and pushed at the offending finger before throwing her arm over her face to block it from coming back yet again.

"No," Jack insisted stubbornly. "Wake up. Please?"

Grumbling a bit, Sam shifted over a bit and cracked an open to study him. "Okay. Why am I awake at one thirty in the morning?"

"Because, it's now officially our anniversary, and I wanted to ask you a question. I suppose I could have waited until the morning, when we were having a moment or something, but then I realized that this _was_ a moment and I didn't want to miss it. I have a bad habit of doing that, you know."

All of that was a bit much to follow fresh out of a REM cycle, but luckily, Sam had become more adept at speaking Jack over the last year. "All right then, what is it you wanted to ask me?"

Instead of immediately delving into it, Jack reached up and brushed back a few strands of her hair, tracing over the planes of her face and finally ending with on calloused finger trailing down her nose softly, an unreadable expression on his face. "Well, it's been a year. Any regrets?"

Lying there with him, she wondered how he could even think to ask. "Only that we didn't get around to this sooner."

He smiled. "Yeah. Damn that whole saving the world thing."

"Indeed," she deadpanned.

His chuckle vibrated through her body, warm and deep. "Seriously, though. Anything you would change? Want different?"

She shrugged. "More time, maybe. There's never enough with you. But I'm pretty damn happy with what I get. "

"I'll work on that, though. I'm sure Thor and I could come up with _something_."

"Oh, you could, could you?"

"Well, Thor could. I'll probably just watch."

"Dirty," she teased.

He snorted. "No sex humor about Thor. It's just icky."

"_Icky_?"

"Can you think of a better word?"

Now that he brought it up… "No, not really."

"Icky it is, then," he insisted, pulling her closer. "Did I ever tell you that I'm really, really glad you dragged me to Vegas and had your wicked way with me?"

"Somehow, that's not exactly how I remember events playing out…."

"Well, you know what they say about memory," he dismissed easily, a flash of white teeth in the darkness before he fell quiet again. "I want you to know something, though."

"What's that?"

"I…" he frowned a little, but continued. "I want you to know that if I had to, I would go through everything that's happened in the last ten years all over again, if it meant that I'd still end up here. Y'know, with you."

It was beautiful and touching and sweet in a way only Jack could be. "Thank you."

His face remained serious. "I really mean that."

She stretched her neck and kissed him briefly, softly, sweetly. "I know."

"Good," he replied. "So, worth waking up for?"

"Definitely."

His smile had a cocky undertone to it now, a much more familiar expression. "I thought it might be. So."

"So?"

"So, anniversary – check. Witty verbal exchange – check. Touching moment – check. Sex now?"

Smirking right back at him, Sam stretched out and slid over him. "Check."


End file.
